hung up the phone, massaging his knuckles as if he’d been in a fight. That terse conversation had not been a satisfactory outlet for his anger, for from the moment he’d walked into Eleanor Langley’s office and seen her cool little smile that was what he’d been feeling. Rage.
He was furious that she seemed so unrepentant, that she’d attempted to foist another man’s baby on him and didn’t even possess the decency now to admit it or apologise. Yet what had he really expected of a woman who was willing to sink so low, to lie to someone she’d said she loved?
He didn’t want to feel so angry, hated how it made the control he’d guarded carefully these last ten years slip away, so he hardly even knew what he was going to say or do. Or feel.
He’d never expected to feel so angry. He’d thought he’d got over Eleanor Langley and her betrayal, had put it far, far behind him. Now it felt fresh and raw and that made him even angrier. He didn’t want Eleanor to affect him this much. He didn’t want her to affect him at all.
Sighing impatiently, Jace turned back to the papers on his desk. Atrikides Holdings was a mess and he had plenty to occupy both his mind and his time. He didn’t need to waste either on Eleanor Langley, not even for a second.
All he wanted from her was a party. That was the only reason he was inviting her to lunch, why he was even bothering to see her again. He’d make it clear just what kind of high standard of service he expected. He’d put her in her place. His lips curved in a humourless smile as his sense of calm return to cloak him in reassuring coldness. All he wanted from her was a party, and by God he’d get one.
Three hours later Eleanor stood in front of the dark gleaming skyscraper that housed the offices of Atrikides Holdings. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and then resolutely headed for the door.
After she was cleared through security she took the lift to the building’s top floor and stepped out into a room of elegant, old-style luxury with a stunning view of Central Park. She stared at the yawning rectangle of green, surrounded by concrete, the trees stark and bare above, as the elderly assistant pursed her lips before pressing a button on her telephone.
‘Mr Zervas, I have Eleanor Langley for you.’
The reply was sharp, terse. ‘Send her in.’
‘You may go in,’ the assistant said, nodding towards the wood-panelled double doors at the far end of the room.
Eleanor nodded back, swallowing down the sudden flutter of nerves that had risen to flurry wildly in her throat. She hated that she was nervous, almost as if Jace scared her. She would not let herself be cowed by him, not when he had been in the wrong ten years ago, not when he had been the coward then.
She certainly wouldn’t be the coward now.
Squaring her shoulders, she knocked once, perfunctorily, before opening the doors and striding into the room.
The office was elegant, huge, and clearly not his. In one quick glance Eleanor saw the portraits of several Atrikides men on the walls, a side table cluttered with family photos. Children. She averted her eyes from the pictures. This had to be the office of the former CEO of Atrikides Holdings, Eleanor surmised, whom Jace had ousted along with half of the company’s employees. A cold-blooded, corporate takeover. Should it really surprise her at all?
Jace stood behind the desk, his back to her. He didn’t turn around even though he must have heard her come in.
Faintly annoyed, Eleanor cleared her throat. He turned, and in that moment—a single second, no more—her breath dried and her heart beat fast and she remembered how good it had been between them, how she’d lain in his arms as the sun washed them in gold and he’d kissed her closed eyelids.
She forced the memory—so sweet and painful—away and smiled coolly. ‘You’ve taken over the CEO’s office, I see.’
Jace waved a hand in dismissal. ‘For the time being. It’s convenient.’
‘And he was fired along with most of the employees, I suppose?’
‘Most is an exaggeration,’ Jace replied, his eyes narrowing, flashing steel.
Eleanor wondered why she was asking. It was almost as if she was trying to pick a fight—and perhaps she was, for the anger and resentment still simmered beneath her surface, threatening to bubble forth. She wanted to hurt him, and yet she knew she wouldn’t succeed with these silly little jabs. She’d only hurt herself, by revealing her own vulnerability. The fact that she was making them at all spoke of how hurt she had been and still was. She drew in a steadying breath and managed a small smile. ‘You’d like to talk about the plans?’
Jace didn’t smile back. ‘I’m not sure they’re worth discussing.’
Eleanor bit the inside of her cheek. ‘Fine,’ she said when she could be sure her voice was level, ‘let’s discard them if you find them so unsuitable. But you could at least make an effort to be civil.’
To her surprise, Jace acknowledged the point with one terse nod. ‘Very well. Let’s have lunch.’
He led her to a table hidden in the alcove, a tiny little table set intimately for two. Eleanor swallowed hard. She didn’t know if she could do this. Every second she spent with Jace strained the composure she’d been working at maintaining for the last ten years, the air of professionalism that had become her armour. Just one sardonic look from those steely eyes—she remembered when they’d softened in pleasure, in love—made her calm façade crack. It crumbled, and she was defenceless once more, the cracks in her armour letting in the memories and pain.
She hated that she was so weak.
Jace drew her chair for her, the epitome of politeness, and with a murmured thanks Eleanor sat down. Her hands trembled as she placed her napkin in her lap. Jace sat in the chair opposite, his fingers steepled under his chin, his dark eyebrows drawn together. He looked so much the same, Eleanor thought with a lurch of remembered feeling, and yet so different. His hair was cut closer now, sprinkled with grey, and his skin looked more weathered. That glint of laughter in his eyes was gone, vanished completely. Yet he still possessed the same compelling aura, like a magnetic field around him. He still drew her to him, even though she hated the thought. Even now she could feel her body’s traitorous reaction to his—the shaft of pleasure deep in her belly, the tingle of awareness as he reached for his own napkin, his fingers scant inches from hers. Eleanor made herself look away and a staff member came in to serve them.
‘Would you care for a glass of wine?’ Jace asked.
‘I don’t normally—’
‘Half, then.’ He held up the bottle, one eyebrow arched in silent challenge, poised to pour. Jerkily Eleanor nodded. This felt like a battle of wills, a contest over who could be the most professional. And she’d win. She had to. If he was so unaffected, well, then, she could be too, or at least seem as if she were. Pretend.
She could pretend to Jace and perhaps even to herself that the room didn’t seethe with memories, that her heart wasn’t splintering along its sewn-up seams. She could. It was the only way of getting out of here alive.
‘Thank you.’ She stared down at her salad, the leaves arranged artfully on a porcelain plate with an elegant little drizzle of vinaigrette. She had no appetite at all. Finally she stabbed a lettuce leaf with
